


Auld Lang Syne

by wittynametbd



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittynametbd/pseuds/wittynametbd
Summary: Isabel Lovelace thinks about days gone by. 
It kind of randomly takes place during a New Years Eve on the Hephaestus, though I don’t know if it can properly fit anywhere into the show’s timeline, as I honestly can’t remember who was in the station at what time. 
This was a Wolf 359 Secret Santa gift for an awesome tumblr pal!





	

**Auld Lang Syne**

It was going to be a new year soon. There was nothing new about it, she supposed, other than the people she’d be spending it with. Not that she cared about who she was spending it with.

Well, not anymore.

She rounded the corner of the Hephaestus’s lower deck, frowning as the music got louder.

_Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?_

If she’d been thinking properly – if she’d been _herself_ – she would’ve made sure to stop that infernal song before Rhea broadcasted it all across the station. A sharp pain shot through her heart as she paused, gripping the edge of a doorway. Not Rhea.

_Hera_.

It was Minkowski who suggested the music. How could she forget? The _real_ Isabel Lovelace would never forget. Of course, the _real_ Isabel Lovelace would also be totally on-board with blasting a constant loop of festive seasonal music.

There was also a time when she was the one responsible for and endless marathon of festive seasonal music. Back when it was _her ship_. _Her crew_.

She smiled, remembering how Lambert’s face scrunched up in a very particular way when he was annoyed. Brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, nostrils slightly flared. As if he was smelling something horrible, but couldn’t discern the source. He managed to make it two whole rounds before he finally made that face. Turns out, you can listen to _Frosty the Snowman_ two times, but asking for a third is akin to hoping for some sort of miracle.

Hui and Fourier, of course, thought the whole thing was hilarious. They convinced Rhea to shuffle the order around, and add in a couple extra versions of Lambert’s favorite song. That’s how they wound up having a whole hour of the magical, wondrous adventures of a questionably-sentient snowman drifting through the station. They’d laugh as they got to one of the last lines in the song – _But he’d wave goodbye saying, “Don’t you cry. I’ll be back again someday”_ – because there was another _Frosty the Snowman_ queued to go right after it. As it turned out, the snowman wouldn’t be gone for too long, after all. Lambert would roll his eyes, bracing himself for the next iteration of that catchy little tune.

And it would begin again. They’d howl with laughter as Lambert’s expression became even more pinched, cheering when they finally gave in and sang along. At one point they all acted the story out – with Lambert in the eponymous role. When they got to the end of the song he turned, moving behind a table and pretending to melt away by slowly sinking closer to the ground.

_But he’d wave goodbye, saying “Don’t you cry. I’ll be back again someday.”_

Another sharp pain. She winced. If she’d been herself, if she’d been thinking properly, she wouldn’t have gotten lost in the memory. Lambert wasn’t coming back. None of them were.

It’s not like she could follow the song’s advice. She’d already cried. She remembered how they looked, the words they tried to form, the promises they asked her to keep. And each time she lost one of them she’d stay awake in her quarters late into the night, crying. Nothing more, nothing less. Just… crying.

Because she – the _real_ Isabel Lovelace – had no idea what was happening. She was lost, and confused, and terrified, and sad. She’d give anything to go back to the fifty million Frosty the Snowman covers, to hear Hui and Fourier’s laughter again, or to see Lambert make that ridiculous _I-can’t-believe-I-know-these-people_ face.

But no matter how much she wanted to go back – how much she wanted them back – she knew it was an impossible thing. It would take a miracle. And she was all out of those.

_Should old acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne?_

She let go of the doorframe, heading into the next room. How many times had the song repeated while she was lost in her memories? Or had she only been gone for a moment, a small breath away from the verse’s next lines?

When she was younger, she never understood the point of the song. She’d looked up at her mother – a woman who was as intelligent as she was kind, a woman whose shoes she was never really sure she’d be able to fill – and asked her what _Auld Lang Syne_ meant.

Her mother smiled, pulling Isabel Lovelace – the real Isabel Lovelace – into her arms. “The song? Or just the title?”

“Both,” she said, fidgeting a little to get more comfortable.

“Hmm,” her mother said softly, poking her lightly in the side. “Well, the song is asking you an interesting question: Should you forget things that’ve happened in the past? Do they matter if enough time has gone by?”

“Do they?” she asked, eyes wide as she searched for an answer in her mother’s expression.

“What do you think?” her mother replied. “Would you want to forget old friends? Or the fun things you did together?”

She was too young to understand the depth of that question. Instead, she focused on all of the missions she’d sent her stuffed animals on, and the diplomatic tea parties she’d had to smooth things over between feuding imaginary friends.

Her younger self smiled. “No. I don’t ever want to forget.”

Her mother laughed. “Then I hope you never do.”

“What about the title?” she asked.

“Oh,” her mother said, smiling at her daughter’s never-ending quest for intel. “There are lots of interpretations. But I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she whispered, leaning closer.

“Yes?” her daughter asked, excitement bubbling through her.

“My favorite one – the best one – in my opinion, only happens when you add a bit of the chorus to it.”

_For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne._

Lovelace jolted to a stop, unsure of when she’d reached her destination. She sighed as the familiar refrain lilted through the air.

_For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne._

“Hera,” she said, letting out a deep breath when the AI’s voice interrupted the music. “Status report on the rest of the crew.”

“Commander Minkowski and Officer Eiffel are on the Observation Deck.”

“And Hilbert?”

“Oh, right. He’s in his quarters.”

“Alert me if that changes.”

“But—”

“ _Rhea_ ,” she said, clearing her throat as she caught her mistake. “ _Hera_. Please. I just need five minutes. Alone.”

“O-o-kaaaaaay,” Hera replied, glitching slightly. And then she was gone.

Lovelace pushed the Infirmary door open as the song started again.

_Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?_

A question she never really understood before – and an answer she lived with every day.

_S_ _hould old acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne?_

They were still with her. In this room, in this station. Every decision she made, every secret she kept, every promise she broke – they were there.

And, for better or worse, they’d never leave.

Isabel Lovelace – possibly the real Isabel Lovelace –pretended to melt away, slowly sinking down to the floor.

_For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne. I’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne._

For old times’ sake. That’s the title her mother liked most. She’d said it was because she could imagine a group of good friends reuniting after a long, long time apart. That they’d spend the night reminiscing about their adventures – their close scrapes, hilarious mistakes, lost loves, confronted fears, happiness, and heartache – and it would be as if no time had passed at all. And then, once it was done, they’d all go their separate ways. On their own once more, but never alone.

Isabel Lovelace – some version of the real Isabel Lovelace – looked around at the empty room. At the place where she lost most of her friends. Where she made them promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. She leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and sang along as the chorus drifted through the air once more.

_For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne. I’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne._

She sighed, tears welling in her eyes as Isabel Lovelace – the real Isabel Lovelace – finally let herself remember.

For old times’ sake.


End file.
